Time Loop
by ToniPrufrock
Summary: In the 51st century, back while he was mortal, Jack Harkness is a rookie timeagent. Assigned to a new more experienced and wild partner named John Hart, he had to solve a case of time travel theft. But soon they are stuck in a time loop for 5 long years..
1. Chapter 1

**Timeloop**

**Pt 1**

The day is hot. It always is on Tuesday 27th July of the 21st century. At exactly 2.45 in the afternoon the first indications of grey cloud roll over the sky. By three it will be spitting with rain. By 3.18 it's a downpour, and the muggy heat won't let off for another two days despite it. Jack Harkness knows this, because he's lived this day – those times and that rain – countless times by now.

He is on the flat open rooftop of a five storey block of flats, sitting in a deckchair, looking at the world below, doing his absolute best not to count off and predict the coming circuit of traffic like a child reciting his memorised times-tables. Yellow car, red car, pickup truck, bicycle, bicycle and here will come the fed-ex van... oh wait, no, it's a blue car _then_ the van...

He closes his eyes and tries to snap out of it.

Time ticks on, and the grey clouds collect above them like clockwork. So it's 2.45, then.

"John, we're gonna have to move soon. That Anderson woman comes back from her one-and-a-half week holiday at 4 o'clock." He says to his partner, who is lounging in another deckchair beside him on the roof of their stolen apartment.

John takes a long drag on his cigarette. At least, Jack calls it a cigarette. To be honest he has no idea what he's smoking, but it sure as hell doesn't _smell_ like nicotine. Doesn't smell like anything else he was familiar with either. But by this point, after knowing the man for five years, he wouldn't put it past him to smoke even the grime off the tiles of the roof.

"4.08." John says with a smug little smirk.

"What?" Jack sighs and creaks out of his deckchair to get a better view of the world below. Blue car, green car, convertible. That guy crossing the road with a bundle of newspapers almost gets hit by a taxi. He drops the papers and curses something in what sounds like Spanish. Like he does every Tuesday 27th July at 2.46 in the afternoon.

"She arrives at 4.08. Remember that time when she chased us out? It was 4.08. After the street-repairs fire up." John chuckles to himself and takes another long drag. "Plenty of time. Sit back down, eyecandy, don't stress."

"Don't be so pedantic. You know what I mean." Jack mutters. _Oh lord_, he thinks,_ we sound like a bickering couple._

John seems to catch on to his train of thought – he seems to be practically able to read his mind nowadays- and he flicks his cigarette butt off the edge of the building. He then gets up, walks behind him and links his arms around his waist, the shorter man resting his chin against Jack's back.

"Plenty of time for a quickie. Or a not-so-quickie." He purrs.

"Not in the mood." Jack says shortly, scowling down at the crowded streets below.

"Well now, you really are the wife." John smirks. "Got a 'headache'?"

Jack ignores him.

Blue car. White car. Van. Motorbike. Truck. It's 2.57pm Tuesday the 27th today, rolling on as ever. Tomorrow it will be 9.15am Monday the 12th of the same month. Start the new cycle.

He would _kill_ for a Wednesday the 28th, but it's been five years since he saw one.

Five years ago, back in the relative normalcy of the Timeagency headquarters, Jack was a completely different man. For one, his identity of 'Jack Harkness' was fairly new, and he was desperately trying to make it stick. Hell, _he_ was fairly new: he had been recruited only two years ago, a model from the tiny peninsula colony of Boeshane with limited (and rather ill-fated) military experience, but with enough passion and enough of a keen spark of intelligence that he could charm and blag his way through what he half-knew about the Time-Agency, and learn quick enough to fill in what he didn't know until he was shown as a pretty impressive candidate. Some of the agents had been fooled by his act – mainly those calling the cards higher up – but the majority at the ground level saw right through it, so that, even after two years on the job, he was still the Rookie. His old birth-name hadn't exactly helped his self image, so at the first chance he got he hijacked some other poor bastard's name when he was briefly down on Earth 1940s. He knew he'd use it again.

Unfortunately, the man beside him in the meeting at that moment was one of the timeagents who weren't fooled by his initial blagging charm. Then again, very little did fool him – he'd been a Timeagent for a long time by now. He was dressed in the trophies of a life skipping from timeline to timeline. He had a long faded blue Napoleonic military coat that was almost falling to pieces from wear and tear, and had a pair of holsters from the 'cowboy' era of Earth's 19thc America, although his guns were modern and unnecessarily high-calibre, in Jack's opinion.

"You're teaming me up with Junior?"

The man said, his voice flat with disapproval, his accent different to Jack's – a mark of a more metropolitan colony closer to Alpha Centuri, maybe even Earth itself, though he had never asked if he was from the original homeworld. The man took a long drag of his cigarette, and Jack began to wonder if that was actually nicotine or not. The smell made his head fuzzy.

"Jack." Jack corrected automatically.

The man gave him a look and Jack shrank back slightly, but tilted his chin up in defiance, refusing to be intimidated.

"He needs someone to take him under a wing, Hart." The boss behind the desk said: Samson Collins: the head of their particular division and the guy who had decided that Jack had enough talent to give him a go.

"And since when did I sign up to be babysitter for little _Junior_?" John Hart replied, cocking an eyebrow.

"Jack." Jack said automatically.

"Funny. It didn't credit you as 'Jack' in that underwear catalogue Boe-boy." John replied with a little smirk. "Not that I didn't mind researching. But seriously, you can choose a fake name out of all of the fake names in the galaxy and you go for something boring like 'Jack?' Why not something cool like 'Tybolt' or 'Thor' or 'Achilles' or something? 'Jack', feh. You're either 'Junior' or 'Rookie' to me, take your pick."

Jack glared at him. "_Not_ Junior. I was sick of that name before I was even a kid."

"Rookie then." John repeated stubbornly, and flicked the butt of his cigarette at him, automatically reaching for another. Jack resisted the urge to punch him right in his stupid face.

"Gentlemen, please." Collins said, irritation leaking into his voice. John gave him an 'innocent' little look and chuckled. He ignored him. "The long and short of the matter is that Harkness is trained up enough by this point to join the core team, but he can't get by without a partner to show him the ropes of how we work in this sector. Hart, you've got enough experience that you can be useful to him; Harkness has enough talent and balls that he can keep you in line. You're together – like it or not."

He sat back and studied them for any further protests. He got none. Jack avoided his gaze and looked down to his boss' hands. Collins' shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing hairy wrists and his Vortex Maipulator – a faded red leather one which had oil stains down one side. Jack's own wrist-strap still felt a little awkward around his wrist – the leather still stiff and new – but it had quickly become Jack's most prized possession. He certainly didn't want to lose it just because he didn't make friends with a chain-smoking know-it-all who was already too old for the bleached-blonde haircut he was currently sporting.

"Alright." Collins said firmly with a nod. He then leant forward to ruffle through some papers. "The mission this time is going to take place in 1998 on Earth. We've got word that a lot of lost pieces of art and historical items have been turning up in private collectors' coffers, good as new. Some guy's also been having a huge winning streak at the betting races the past week in that time period. Naturally we figure they're connected – some guy's working time travel for his own gain, I reckon. I want you two to go down there and dig around, see if you can track the guy on a winning streak and get a name from him as to who's been feeding him numbers. He'll no doubt lead you to the guy who's been dealing the 'lost' artefacts."

"And once we find him?" Jack asked.

"You arrest him and bring him here and we'll get some answers out of him. If he's lucky we'll dump him back in his timeline, you know the drill." Collins replied.

" 'If he's lucky'." John smirked. "Alright. Rookie, we'll meet back Monday at 9 and get going. Bring your gun." John said, stretching. He flicked the butt of his cigarette away and Collins reached a foot out to stamp on in before it set fire to the carpet. "See you later, boss, have a good weekend." He then gave a vague wave and departed.

Once John was gone Jack looked back to Collins and there was a pause. He opened his mouth to speak and Collins held up a hand to shut him up, knowing what he planned to say. There was another pause and then Jack spoke anyway.

"You can't be serious. Look, I don't wanna judge here or jump the gun, but with all the rumours I've been getting about this guy, are you _sure_ that I should team up with him? Hell, are you sure he should be on this mission? I mean, he's supposed to have been put through rehab how many times?"

"Nine." Collins said casually, as if it was no big thing.

"Nine?" Jack exclaimed. He thought that they fired people after one unsuccessful attempt.

"Well he _has_ been with us since he was 17." Collin said with a shrug. Jack gave him a look and he looked cooly back, his voice hardening a little with firmness. "I have you know that as of now he's off the needles and lines and he's actually sober most of the time, why the hell do you think he's smoking so much instead? Now you listen to me, Harkness, that man's a damn good Timeagent. What's more is that he's your superior. You could learn a lot from him and if you pay attention you'll become a top agent. John Hart is _my_ business. Your business is to take the orders you're given and not ask pointless questions, do you understand?"

Jack paused, staring at him levelly, and then nodded. "Fine."

"You're damn right 'fine.' Now go on, you've got your weekend free. I'll see you bright and early on Monday." He said, giving him a smile afterwards to show there were no hard feelings. Jack nodded and got up, glancing over his shoulder before leaving, closing the door behind him.

Monday morning soon rolled around and Jack was stunned to find that John was actually on time. The Timeagent looked a little worse for wear – he was in his unwashed default outfit and had bags under his eyes and another cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth, but he had a grin on his face.

"Hellooo eyecandy." He announced. "Ready Rookie?"

"Yeah, yeah." Jack said, checking his gun over for the last time before slipping it in his own holster on his belt. He had gone for a standard practical outfit – black trousers and a black semi-armoured waistcoat over a tight white t-shirt.

"Bulletproof? Cute." John smirked. "and that's 'yeah yeah _sir_.'"

"'Yeah yeah' suck it." Jack replied with a huff.

"Gladly." John countered with a grin and a wink. Jack couldn't help but smirk back, but otherwise tried to ignore him. "So the boss has clocked the date as Monday 12th July 1997. Got it entered?"

John nodded, flicking open his wrist strap and typing the date on the vortex manipulator. He pressed a button and with a spark he was gone. Jack soon followed suit.

With a cracking static sound that always made Jack's ears buzz, Jack arrived in an alleyway behind what looked like a cafe. The buildings were high with tan brick, and he could hear the main road. The sky was a glorious blue, and it was summery with the sun beating down, though mercifully there was a slight cooling breeze. John was leant on a dumpster, waiting for him, trying to relight his cigarette, which had extinguished in the journey.

"Do you ever quit that?"

Jack asked irritably, shaking his head to free the buzzing from his ears and walking a little down the alleyway to investigate their surroundings outside it.

"What? Gimmie a break, I only started a few weeks ago. Making up for lost time, aren't I?" John replied with a little smirk.

"From what I heard, you've had plenty of activity with harder stuff to make up for it." Jack muttered.

John stepped up to him and jabbed him in the chest, shoving him back against a wall.

"_That _is none of your business Rookie." He said, meeting him hard in the eyes. He then tilted his head and gave another infuriatingly amused smile. Jack noticed that John seemed to take everything as a joke, even when he was threatening people. It was unsettling.

"Now, I think our first stop is the horses don't you? Let's find out 'lucky' better." John said, patting Jack condescendingly on the chest and then striding off to the main street, making no effort to conceal his guns. Jack was forced to follow, hoping that they wouldn't get arrested.

The racetrack was on the edge of town, and John managed to hail a taxi to take them there so that he needn't bother trying to figure out the route. Jack paid with the small amount of contemporary currency they had been given, looking curiously at the long-dead faces of the leaders and historical figures on them before he handed the notes over. John seemed uninterested and made a quick step towards the track, squeezing through the doors with the growing throng of spectators. Jack hurried to keep up with him, his longer legs soon bringing him up-to stride.

"Don't tell me, you bet too?" he asked cynically.

"Only in the highest of stakes." John replied with a grin. "Ponies and their midget riders don't interest me. You?"

"Only if I know I'm gonna win." Jack admitted, smirking.

"Good strategy, if a little dull." John said studying the faces of the crowd, seeking out anyone suspicious or over-confident. "Ok, Rookie..." he said, quickly getting down to business, "You start asking around for anyone who's been on a winning streak lately. Head down the front; I figure he'll want to see his victories as clearly as possible so he can bask in it like a smug git. I'll go ask the betting booths for who's been winning. We meet back here in half an hour max – got it?"

"Got it." Jack said .

They soon parted ways, Jack pushing through the crowd and taking on a spot near the white fencing that separated the crowd from the track. He lingered around, watching and thinking who to talk to first. There was a whole plethora of people, male and female, shifting about and talking loudly among themselves. He found his eyes lingering on a few of the better looking ones, his mind idly wondering what perfume a certain woman wore or how a certain man would taste after the sweat and excitement of the race. Their clothes and mannerisms were intriguing and he heard a few turns of phrase dot around that were archaic to him. He had always found it captivating how each individual person –regardless of place, species or time - carried themselves and sounded. He could appreciate them each for their own little merits and inadequacies, just as _people_, and engage with them on a personal genuine level and make them feel like a million dollars, no matter who they were. He just loved people in general, and always wanted to find out and drink in as much about each individual as possible. He supposed that this fixation, and his talent for effortlessly charming them because of it, might have been one of the reasons why the Timeagency were so keen to take him on. Certainly there had to be some decent reason for it: a model from an unimportant backwater colony was hardly the best CV setup for an applicant to an interplanetary Time-travelling organisation.

He soon settled on a man near the front. He was in his early 50s, rotund and rough, his face tanned and thickly lined and his hair greying, but an enthusiastic warm smile on his face and a twinkle of genuine and knowledgeable excitement in his eyes that told Jack that he must be a regular to the track. Jack sauntered up to him, casually standing next to him and looking out as the racehorses were paraded around and called out for the crowd to inspect.

"Pretty nice animals." Jack commented lightly, loud enough to make it obvious that it was an open statement inviting a conversation in. The man glanced briefly at him and then nodded, rocking back on his heels a little.

"Aye, they're fantastic creatures. But they do no justice unless they're running – that's when they're really magnificent." He said with a nod. "You been to the races before Mr...?"

Jack smiled and turned to him. "Jack Harkness. And who are you?"

Jack asked, his voice lilting in a subtle flirt at the end as he offered his hand to the man. The man didn't appear like he quite knew how to take the flirt, a slightly nervous look crossing his face before being politely hidden away. He shook Jack's hand, his palm rough.

"Peter Dodd." He said, his voice friendly. "So, are you a horse man?"

Jack smiled looking him directly in the eyes, curiously drinking him in. "Nice to meet you, Peter Dodd. And me? To be honest, not much. Not an awful lot of horses where I come from."

"Is that America? I'm just guessing by your accent..." He said, wary of offending him.

"Yeah. Sure. Not a lot of horses where I live in America." Jack said with a vague nod. Everyone seemed to assume that he was American. He had gotten bored of being annoyed by it by this point. He made a mental note to actually study up on the country one day, so that he could have a proper cover story about where he lived and its culture.

"So it's your first time?"

"Yeah. I'm with a friend here, actually. He's more of the betting man." Jack said casually. "In fact, he's got me on some goose chase trying to find a guy who's got some magic trick or whatever for picking winning horses. You know, like a winning streak. D'you know of any guys like that?"

Peter raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, shrugging. "Your mate'll not get far with a strategy like that, if you don't mind me saying, and that guy's not going to give up his secret easily either." He said.

"Still, I try to humour him." Jack said with a laugh. "C'mon, who do I talk to?"

Peter regarded him a moment and then slipped his hands in his pockets. He eventually conceded.

"Well, alright. If you want to pick winners, the current word on the grapevine is that a man named Arthur Chapman has been on the streak of a lifetime this past week. I don't know who the hell he's praying to, but it's sure working. He's a short man, ginger, wears a flat cap. You can't miss him."

Jack nodded.

"Thanks a lot. What exactly does this Arthur guy do anyway? For a living I mean."

Peter scratched his chin. "As I understand it he's got a little storage company. Y'know those warehouses kitted out so people who are moving or whatever can dump their crap there for safekeeping. I heard he's doing well for himself – got a new client who's a bit of a bigwig. He's not taking any more customers than him nowadays, so he must be pretty flashy. Now he's winning constantly on the races. They say that it don't rain but it pours, and I suppose that applies to good luck as well as bad." He laughed

Jack nodded thoughtfully. He then glanced about and patted his companion on the shoulder.

"Well thanks a lot of the info, Peter. I should get back to my friend and let him know that. You enjoy the race, k?"

Peter nodded. "Aye, take care of yourself."

Jack smiled and headed back, pushing through the crowd back to the betting booths. He noticed John leant against the wall, observing various members of the crowd with a hungry look in his eyes and a rather lewd smirk on his face. Jack gave him a wave and he straightened up, walking over.

"Well?"

"I spoke to a regular. Apparently the guy's name is Arthur Chapman. Kinda short, red-haired, flat cap. Owns a modest storage company but nowadays he's only working for one big client. Soon as the client gets established with him, he starts winning races." Jack reported.

John nodded. "I got pretty much the same info. So it looks like the bigwig's feeding him numbers in exchange for exclusivity and secrecy in storing his contraband."

"That's how I figured it." Jack agreed.

"Good work, Rookie. Now let's see if we can find the little slimeball." John said cheerfully. "We'll wait 'til the end of the race and drag him to someone more 'discreet'. See if we can't get a name outta him."

Jack hesitated. As he did there was a buzz and a cheer as the first race started.

"Look, I don't wanna criticise, but if we go straight after him and interrogate the guy, won't that alert his client?" Jack practically shouted over the now deafening cheers. "If we just collar this Chapman guy his employer'll run for it. He'll either get wind that something's up or Chapman'll tell him he was caught. There's no way his client doesn't know about the Time-Agency if he's pulling a job like this."

"He won't tell if we point a gun to his head." John snorted. "People are pretty easy to persuade with a gun barrel between their teeth."

"Yeah, but afterwards he'll not hide what happened either, even if he doesn't directly tell him. Why don't we skip Chapman and go straight to the source? We know who Chapman is now, we can tail him and break into the warehouse. Then we wait for the time-thief to show himself at one of the auctions for the stolen items. They're of great value, he'll be sure to want to oversee it in person. _Then_ that's when we catch him." Jack explained.

John stared at him, mulling it over in his mind. The thunder of hooves died down and another roar of cheers and cries of disappointment overwhelmed them. Finally he nodded.

"You're not just a pretty face, are you Rookie?"

Jack grinned. "You bet your ass I'm not."

"Alright. We go with your plan. Now keep your eyes peeled for Chapman and we'll tail him."

It wasn't until the end of the races that the crowd started moving about, torn up betting tickets scattering the ground like confetti. Midway through the race, John had separated from Jack in order to widen their viewpoint. By the end of the race he rejoined him, a couple of bottles of beer in his hands. Jack gave them a pointed look.

" 'Split up' huh? So this is why?" He reached out for the second beer and John drew his hand back so it was out of his reach, giving him an amused look of offense at his presumption.

"There's perks to taking up surveillance at the bar." He chuckled, and took a long almost unending gulp from one bottle of beer. "Besides, I found him."

Once he'd finished the bottle he passed the empty glass to Jack. Jack glared at him and intentionally dropped it.

"oops." He said flatly. John grinned at his stubbornness. "Ok, so where did you find him?" Jack asked.

John brought the second bottle up to his lips and raised his eyebrows, nodding forwards into the crowd. Sure enough, a short man with patchy red hair picked his way through the crowd, a grin on his face. Jack nodded and went ahead to follow him, John tailing him as he finished off his beer.

Sure, enough, Chapman weaved in and out of the growing crowd and out into the street, closely followed by the timeagents a few paces behind. Jack tried to look inconspicuous, and prayed that he wouldn't get into a car. It seemed that it paid off, for 10 minutes walking later they reached an industrial estate. Without the cover of the crowd, Jack took to trying to hide behind walls, but John didn't bother – either confident that Chapman wouldn't turn around, or eager to have an excuse to use his more violent option of interrogation. Chapman, once he reached a modest warehouse in red brick, slipped inside using a keycard and out of sight.

"Least we know which one it is." Jack said, relaxing once Chapman was inside.

"Doesn't get us any bloody closer to getting him though, does it?" John said, stepping back to eye the warehouse. "Well look, I'll try set up some surveillance to check when the little rat scurries home, then we'll break in tomorrow night and see what we can find. Got it Rookie?"

Jack nodded. "And your surveillance is...?"

John grinned and reached into his pockets, withdrawing a set of three tiny wireless cameras.

"Always be prepared." He winked.

Jack smirked in approval. "Need a hand?"

He stepped towards the door, keeping an eye out for Chapman or any employees and bent slightly, clasping his hands palm-upwards in a makeshift step. "C'mon shorty, I'll give you a lift."

"Ha bloody ha." John snorted, putting a foot up and grabbing Jack's shoulders. Jack heaved him up and he balanced, attaching one of the sticky-backed cameras to the above corner of the doorframe, and angling it so that it faced the door and the immediate area around it. He hopped down and opened his wrist strap, checking the live video feed before slapping Jack's backside with a grin, making his partner flinch.

"Ok babe, time for the back entrance." He grinned.

"I bet that's what you say to all your dates." Jack joked.

"Ooh so this is a date?"

"You wish." Jack snorted and snatched a camera off him, striding ahead of him around to the back of the building, keeping alert.

John followed closely, the lewd grin on his face again. "Lead all you like, I love watching you leave."

"Stop looking at my ass."

"You're the one who chose to wear those cute trousers."

"Keep with the workplace harassment and my 'cute' little boot'll kick your ass." Jack said, trying to sound annoyed and fight the urge to smile.

"What's the purpose of going to work if there's no sexual harassment? It's like the whole point." John smirked.

Jack rolled his eyes and checked around before reaching up and fixating the camera to the back door. They then retreated and placed the third camera by the gate entrance to the industrial estate.

"They all working?" Jack asked.

"Like clockwork." John said, looking smug.

"Excellent." Jack smiled. "Right, we better try find a hotel if we've gotta wait. Come on, I'll try find one nearby."

With one last glance at the warehouse Jack headed back with his new partner to scout out a place to crash for the night, a fluttering excitement in the pit of his stomach for what was to come. His first proper mission on the field, and breaking an entering at that – it was what he was dreaming for. As far as he was concerned, so long as they were working, there was no hurry at all. He was determined that this mission would go completely in their favour – he needed a shining example of his abilities to show off. Maybe then he wouldn't be the rookie anymore. As far as he could see, the only obstacle to that was the man lighting up a new cigarette beside him, and he had already surprised Jack in how useful he could be when he chose to.

"So. One room or two?" John asked with a mischievous smirk.

"Two." Jack said shortly.

"It'd look less suspicious with one room – we could be a couple. Cheaper too." John persuaded.

Jack gave him a look. "Two rooms."

John pouted, but conceded, looking thoughtful as he took a long drag on his cigarette. "We'll see. Suit yourself."

Jack sighed and shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in a little smile. Successful or not, this mission was going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

"I think I'm going insane."

Jack says, laying back in the small bed. It is almost 6 o'clock, and they have moved again – spurred by the street works starting up and the promised arrival of 'that Anderson woman'. 7 months ago, John scouted out this house down the street, noticing that the inhabitant worked a nightshift over at the local 24 hour supermarket and often left for work at around half 5 to catch the 5.45pm bus. He wouldn't return until 7am, grab a sausage roll on his way home, then collapse into bed. They'd watched him do this on a loop for months before they were confident enough to use his house as one of their usual haunts. John had once joked that he and Jack were the most high class tramps that he knew. Jack had replied that he preferred the term 'vagabond' because it made him feel like some sort of adventure hero. John likes this house. It's tiny and modest, not exactly the most clean place either, and apparently it reminds him of the first place he got when he ran away from home, only minus the cockroaches. Outside it is still raining, as it always does by this time, and the air has taken on a heavy warmth as dark ink-purple clouds gather and rumble in the distance, adding a low bass to the fast percussion of heavy raindrops against the window. John had said that he wanted to make love backed by the crashing of the thunderstorm, nibbling at Jack's neck with persuasive kisses, but – typically- he had been too impatient to wait. Now they lay naked, the storm still in the distance, squished close together side-by-side on the not-quite-a-double bed, the light covering of sweat on their bodies not helped by the oppressive heat of the evening.

"So? Everyone's a little insane." John smirks, resting his head on Jack's chest and running his fingers in light little circles over his slick skin.

"Speak for yourself." Jack mutters, looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in long tired breaths, his body still tingling. He licks his lips and closes his eyes, hearing the gradually building thunder. John is silent for a while, listening to the rain intermingling with Jack's gradually calming heartbeat, and relaxing the ache out of his muscles.

Eventually he speaks up.

"Why are you 'going insane'? You can't overanalyse this stuff, Jack." He says softly. "You've just got to quit thinking about the loop. It's been so long. Just accept it."

Jack shifts, opening his eyes again to look down at him. John has changed quite a bit since he first met him. Physically he is a little older – they both are – and the bleach long ago grew out of his hair, leaving a relatively curly brown behind that he tries to keep short. But for the occasional serious relapse, the bags under his eyes are gone and he looks fairly healthy and the prickling competitive relationship they had originally has softened over the years to the point where John stopped calling him 'rookie' and actually started to use his new fake name until it was natural. Sure, he gives him a hard time, but the malice has all but gone. He has never stopped from being unpredictable, but Jack doesn't mind anymore. In fact, he loves that about him. He realises that he loves an awful lot about him, in fact.

He swallows a little nervously at that. Maybe it's a form of stockholme syndrome, he wonders. Or cabin fever. Couldn't be proper love.

"You can't possibly like this loop, can you?"Jack accuses, looking down at him. The sky flashes finally with lightning. It doesn't make him jump anymore. "I mean, this is serious. We could be stuck here forever."

"Of course not." John says with a snort. "But there's little we can do about it."

"So we should give up?"

"No. But it's healthier to just go with it. I mean, there's some good things isn't there?" John says.  
Jack frowns slightly and sighs, looking away to the window at a dramatic roll of thunder, following the lightning. He remembers as a child being told that if he counts after the lightning, every second equals the lightning being one mile away. Back on Boeshane they had to worry about sandstorms more than thunderstorms, but when they did come – often rolling out across the sea – it had always excited him. He finds himself mentally counting now.

"I mean, there's some goodness in it. Being here...just you...and me." John says, running a finger over his nipple persuasively before kissing his chest. Jack lets out a soft moan at that, tilting his head back. "Like no one else in the world matters." John murmurs.

Jack feels himself almost being persuaded by that. He wants John, and to keep him as his forever. He feels safe with him, while there is still some danger always bubbling under the time agent's surface. He's captivating and charismatic and strong and clever in his own rather wicked way, and god he is attractive...but it isn't enough to stay here forever. Not even if Jack is sure that John loves him.  
"H-have you given up hope already?" Jack says, and finds that his voice is only a breathless whisper now as John moves to kiss at his throat.

"If this town bores you and maddens you, we should go somewhere else. Travel a bit." John says, ignoring the question and lowering his voice just a little, as he always does when he's trying to be seductive. Jack feels it working and makes a faint noise of protest in his throat as John moves to lean over him and catch his lips in his.

"Nhn..no. No. We stay here." Jack says, finding his voice again. He puts his hand to John's chest and pushes him away so he can give him a hard look in the eyes. "They WILL come for us, John." He insists. He resists adding 'eventually'.

John nods and licks his lips, looking at him hungrily, shivering at a particularity strong crash of thunder.

"And until then?" John asks, moving so that his legs are either side of Jack's hips and his hands are linked behind Jack's neck. His eyes look at him searchingly, but he's confident.

"We live, I guess." Jack sighs. What else could they do even after all these years?

"And I'll keep you sane, babe." John purrs, looking satisfied at that, moving to kiss over his jaw line, knowing that Jack loves that spot. He grins as Jack whines lightly and wraps his arms around him.  
"Ok." Jack gasps, closing his eyes. Another flash of lightning cuts across the sky followed closely by a roll of deafening thunder. Only three seconds this time. It looks like John is going to get his wish, Jack thinks.

"I love you." John says, his voice muffled slightly as he speaks against Jack's neck, his kisses soon biting and ravenous.

Jack leans into them and is soon kissing back. "Yeah...I know."

Soon, lightning is flashing and thunder immediately crashing hard enough to make the walls quiver as the thunderstorm arrives. 

Back, long in the past when Jack and John were still relative strangers, and the heat of the day was still a novelty, Jack found himself in John's room in the hotel. Despite his insistence on having separate rooms, and having attained them, John still dragged him around to his room so that he could set up a TV and watch the surveillance all night. Once Jack finally entered (being over two hours late on the principle of being dragged here at the wee hours of the morning when he was supposed to be sleeping) he found John sat cross-legged on the bed, in front of the surveillance-playing TV, with various bottles of alcohol, energy drinks and popcorn scattered about the place.  
"Are you trying to use up our whole budget?" Jack asked, closing the door and taking a seat on the floor in front of the bed, so that his back rested against it.

"Sorry, I didn't realise that you were my mother, Rookie." John smirked, chomping on popcorn and resting the box on top of Jack's head.

Jack waved it off "Hey! Cut that out."

John chuckled and stretched the stiffness out of his spine, watching the surveillance numbly.  
"Anything interesting happen?" Jack eventually asked.

"We got two security guards. One has a penchant for picking his nose. That's about it. I mapped their routine so far." John said, waving a hand dismissively to the pad of paper that came with the hotel room. Jack knelt up and picked it up, reading it. John had managed to do a little diagram with a set of scribbled notes. In the corner of the pad also, Jack noticed, he'd done a little flick cartoon of a cowboy's head exploding.

"That's sick." Jack commented, tossing the pad back on the bed.

"Yeah, nose picking's a disgusting habit." John replied with a smirk. Jack knew that John understood exactly what he had meant. Once John had finished his drink he lit up a cigarette.

"So's that." Jack said, gesturing to a 'no smoking' sign in the room. John rolled his eyes. He then suddenly got up off the bed and patted Jack's head.

"Right, it's your shift, Rookie." John said cheerfully, looking up at the clock. Five past four in the morning.

"Wait, what?" Jack exclaimed.

John grinned at him and walked out, heading for Jack's room. "Night night!"


End file.
